Page 29 of The Perfect Divorce

“That’s right.” He nods. “If this goes through, it will double the WOTC and give employers access to even lower healthcare premiums for all employees.”

“How confident are you that it’ll pass?” Sarah asks.

Corey delivers a devilish smile. “Very.”

“That’s what I like to hear,” she says with a pleased look.

Nods and smiles all around as Anne takes notes and moves on to the next item on the agenda. My phone vibrates against the table, causing a small disturbance. Sarah’s eyes tighten, but she doesn’t say anything. I silence it, but not before I glance at the text Brad sent. I almost let out a sigh of relief.

Background check on Stacy Howard came back. She was charged with extortion for blackmailing a sitting congressman a few years ago but got a slap on the wrist for it.

I text back.

Did she have an affair with the congressman and threaten to tell his wife?

He replies right away.

Umm. Not sure. It’s a sealed record, but I’ll see if I can find a way around it.

It looks like I wasn’t Stacy’s first rodeo. Before I can reply, Brad texts again.

There was something else that might be a red flag.

What!?!?!

I chew on my lower lip, waiting for him to message me back. Finally, it lands on my screen, and I can feel my face flush. The thick vein in my forehead starts to throb as I read it.

Stacy’s name came up on the Morgan Foundation’s external payroll list. Still trying to figure out what exactly she was paid for as it’s listed as “contractor.” More to come.

My hands ball into tight fists, and I slowly lift my head, scowling at my wife seated at the other end of the table.I knew it.She’s plotting against me. Probably has been since the moment she found out I had an affair.

Before I can think it through, I grab the ballpoint pen lying beside my phone and launch myself at her. No one has time to react, and in an instant, I’m on top of Sarah, sending her reeling backward in her chair. We crash to the floor, her little blond head cracking against it, instantly putting her in a daze. Gasps and screams fill the room. With the pen clenched in my hand, I raise it above my head and thrust it into her eye socket. Blood spurts out of the wound, spraying red onto my white button-up. I plunge the ballpoint into her face over and over again until she’s completely unrecognizable, just a mangled mess of skin, blood, cartilage, and exposed bone. I can’t help but laugh manically.Ding dong, the bitch is dead.

“Bob,” Sarah says with an ounce of concern in her voice. I shake away the fantasy, finding myself still seated in the conference room right across from her. Her head is slanted to the side, and her brows are pulled together. The ballpoint pen was clenched so tightly in my hand, it snapped in half, causing red ink to spill out from my closed fist and drip onto the conference table. The other board members are looking at me the same way she is.

“How do you vote?” she asks, relaxing her face to a neutral position. Her hand is raised out in front of her with a thumb up.

I release the pen from my grasp and hold out my red-stained fist, rotating it slowly into a thumbs-down. Sarah doesn’t know it yet, but she’s met her match.

NINETEEN

SARAH MORGAN

Anne places two mugs of coffee on the purple table and takes a seat across from me. We’re at a quaint coffee shop just a few blocks from the office. The café has an eclectic style, featuring a hodgepodge of mismatched chairs and tables, but it somehow works. It reminds me of Bob and me until he showed his true colors and made me realize he couldn’t be trusted. But I don’t think I ever really trusted him... at least deep down.

“What was up with Bob at the board meeting? Was he intentionally voting the opposite of you on every issue?” Anne takes a cautious sip of hot coffee. The steam is still wafting from it, but she’s never been a patient person. Only with me, she is. When the liquid touches her lips, she winces and sets the mug back on the table.

“You noticed that too?” I say, raising a brow.

“It was impossible not to.”

“He’s acting out because of the divorce. Must be in the anger phase of his separation grief, which was a quick progression from groveling and denial.” I bring the mug of coffee to my lips, sipping slowly. It burns, but I have a high pain tolerance, so I don’t mind it.

Anne furrows her brow. “And was his hand bleeding at one point too?”

“Pretty sure that was red ink from the pen he snapped in half,” I say, rolling my eyes.

Bob has always refused to use blue or black ink on anything, even signing his name or adding a tip to a receipt. It has to be red. It’s a stupid little power move that I’ve always thought made him look like a jackass, rather than an alpha male as he intended.

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